Of Dreams and Waking
by sevanderslice
Summary: Which is better, the dream or the nightmare? NineRose. Written for the timeandchips ficathon, anywhere but Cardiff on livejournal.
1. Part 1, Chapter 1

**Title:** Of Dreams and Waking (Part 1)  
**Beta:** The amazing and talented **ganeris**  
**Character/Pairing:** Nine/Rose  
**Rating:** PG-13 in this chapter (mostly for some minor violence)  
**Summary:** Which is better, the dream or the nightmare?  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters and I make no money off of their obvious love and desire for each other.  
**Author's Notes:** Written for the **timeandchips** ficathon, anywhere but Cardiff.  
**Prompt:** Deva Loka (paradise planet of the Kinda), August 3, 2266

* * *

Of Dreams and Waking

Part 1

_Temper is a weapon that we hold by the blade. Sir James M. Barrie_

When Rose wakes up, the Doctor isn't waiting for her in the kitchen with a cup of tea and a trite comment about how long "apes" have to sleep. He isn't in his bedroom, the console room, the wardrobe, or the garden, either. So forty-five minutes and two sore feet later Rose, still dressed in her pajamas and now with a touch of worry and a bit of a chip on her shoulder, finally makes it back to kitchen, determined to have that cup of tea despite his absence. Ironically, now he's at the table, seated in the high backed wooden chair closest to the wall, his favorite blue mug within arm's reach. Rose breathes a sigh of relief and makes to glide into the room; but before the words "where've you been hiding?" can escape her mouth, she stops short, suddenly wary. Leaning her cheek against the cool metal doorframe, Rose takes in the Doctor's disheveled appearance. He's barely dressed, at least for him: trusty leather jacket nowhere to be found, and ten slightly hairy toes peaking out from beneath the bottom hem of his jeans. His close-cropped hair is sticking up at all angles, flat on one side and spiky on the other, while his jaw remains covered in a day-old beard. He's wearing the green jumper today, although it's horribly wrinkled, as if picked up off the floor and pulled on in a great hurry.

His body language is all wrong. Instead of the Doctor's usual nonchalant and slightly arrogant pose, he's all hunched over, elbows on the table and shoulders slumped as if carrying some great weight. Two long fingers from each hand are pressed ruthlessly into the sides of his temples, while his striking features are crunched up in some kind of painful concentration.

The Doctor doesn't move a muscle; not even a twitch as Rose quietly eases herself inside the room, padding lightly across the tile in her stocking feet. The blue mug is cold when she reaches for it, sugar granules sticking to the sides and full to the brim with tea. He's not drunk a drop since coming in here.

Biting her bottom lip for courage, Rose reaches out a tentative hand, desperate to smooth away the tension in his clenched jaw, to ease the strain around the Doctor's eyes. She shrieks loudly, her whole body jerking violently in surprise when one of his hands is suddenly clenched in a steely grip around her wrist, his wide eyes twin balls of furious blue fire.

"Rose!" He releases her immediately, the intensity of the Doctor's gaze diminishing into a low simmer as recognition sets in. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that; could get you hurt." His chair scrapes along the tile in an obnoxious screech as he gets up from the table and makes his way towards the sink, blue mug in hand.

"I didn't sneak up on you," Rose's voice is incredulous and she raises it to be heard above the running water as he rinses the mug, "I've been here for a while. You just didn't notice. What were you doing?"

"Nothing," the reply is curt, causing her to frown as he picks up the little bottle of dish soap on the sink ledge.

Rose leans against the counter, not believing that for a second. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

The Doctor wipes out the last of the sugar granules with a yellow sponge, the task apparently requiring all his concentration, since he refuses to look at her. "I said, nothing. Now leave it." The mug drops into the wire drain next to the sink with an audible clang.

Rose makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat as he brushes by, completely dismissing her on his way towards the door. "You only shut me out when you're upset about something. Why won't you talk to me?"

He turns, placing one hand on his hip. "That's right, Rose Tyler, intergalactic social worker. Look, if you're looking for someone to mother, then you should have stayed home with Rickey boy, 'cause I don't need it and I don't want it."

The words feel like a physical blow. "I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah?" he says, stepping towards her, "You want to help me? You think you can understand my pain?" The last word is spoken mockingly, his tone laced with venom. Rose takes an unconscious step backwards, stopping abruptly when her back hits the edge of the sink. The Doctor pursues her, his long strides quickly closing the distance between them. His face is suddenly inches from hers, blue eyes blazing with intensity as his jaw muscles twitch in rhythmic fury.

Rose doesn't back down, doesn't believe for an instant that he'll actually hurt her. She reaches up, cupping his face in both of her hands, refusing to let him do this to himself, to her. "Please," she says softly, as if taming a wild beast, "what would help you?"

He leans in, his lips barely an inch away and Rose closes her eyes, feeling his erratic breath puffing against her skin. Her own breath hitches, caught between a scream and sigh as she tries to imagine what he's going to do next. She can almost feel his lips on hers, the kinetic energy between them almost sealing the miniscule breach.

"Do you want to know what would help me, Rose Tyler?" The sound of her name, spoken so softly, so close to her lips, is the most seductive sound in the universe. Her breath, suddenly returning, fills her lungs in a giant inhalation as Rose's whole body grows warm.

"Yes." Her mouth drops open; a silent granting of permission, an obvious plea. _Oh God, just do it._

"This helps." Rose's eyes jump open at the Doctor's abrupt change in tone just in time to see his favorite mug smash against the wall. Pieces of blue ceramic plummet to the floor like sharp little raindrops, only to bounce a bit on the tile. Rose gapes at him, shock and horror plastered all over her flushed face. "This helps too." His mad grin is suddenly borderline psychotic as the Doctor grabs the toaster off the counter, inelegantly ripping the power cord out of the wall and hurling it across the room. Other small appliances follow; the blender, toaster oven, coffee maker, and teapot, all following their compatriots in the same violent demise. Rose flinches every time one of them meets their untimely death against the wall.

Suddenly out of projectiles, the Doctor stills, chest rising and falling in heavy pants, his whole body tense as if preparing for flight. His mouth opens and closes a few times; silent words of what Rose assumes must be some kind of explanation never quite making it past his lips. He turns then, escaping the kitchen, and Rose. His bare feet slap on the tile floor as he makes his cowardly retreat, leaving Rose in a room full of broken things.

It takes her a minute to move, partially afraid of cutting her feet on the sharp items now scattered everywhere and partially just horribly confused. What just happened? Rose lets her lips stretch into a sad smile as she considers her next move. It doesn't help that she suddenly feels just as broken as the rest of the room.


	2. Part 1, Chapter 2

**Title:** Of Dreams and Waking  
**Beta:** The amazing and talented **ganeris**  
**Character/Pairing:** Nine/Rose  
**Summary:** Which is better, the dream or the nightmare?  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters and I make no money off of their obvious love and desire for each other.  
**Author's Notes:** Written for the **timeandchips** ficathon, anywhere but Cardiff.  
**Prompt:** Deva Loka (paradise planet of the Kinda), August 3, 2266Of Dreams and Waking

_note: this is not the last part, but the rest will not be up until next week because my beta is out of town. Sorry._

* * *

Part 2

_He who delights in solitude is either a wild beast or a god Sir Francis Bacon_

The Doctor's striking features are illuminated only by starlight when Rose finally finds him again hours later; staring out into the vast expanse of space though one of the TARDIS's many inconceivable windows. Like Rose, he's obviously showered and changed, dark hair once again combed down close to his skull, his angular jaw clean shaven. The battered leather jacket that is so much a part of him wraps around his broad form, all but concealing the material underneath. He's wearing the maroon jumper now, this time sans wrinkles, and his feet, which stand a shoulder's width apart, are encased in their usual Doc Martin boots. His emotional armor is back in place, both leather clad arms crossed in front of his chest, inviting no company. He seems to Rose like a statue made of flesh and bone: immobile, and immovable.

He remains still as Rose enters what can only be described as some sort of observation deck. The "window," she realizes, is actually more like a glass wall; somehow giving the viewer a glimpse of the outside, despite the TARDIS's wooden exterior. Her pink trainers tread lightly on the metal floor, making little sound, but they still somehow manage to alert the Doctor to her arrival. He continues to stare out at the stars, unchanged by her presence but for a slight slumping of the shoulders. The silence is so deafening that Rose nearly jumps out of her skin when he finally speaks. "I'm sorry."

She knows she should be angry, knows that a simple apology shouldn't be enough to make up for all the awful things he said to her. He'd insulted her, frightened her and shut her out, all capital offences when it came to friendship. But what really hurt, what she should really punish him for, was that he'd made her want him, and then he'd made her feel a fool. But the apology is so heartfelt, the words spoken so softly, that it bolsters both Rose's mercy and her courage. So she closes the gap between them in a few quick strides, coming to stand beside him.

He still doesn't look at her, so curling her fingers around one masculine forearm, Rose tugs determinedly, until he gives in and uncrosses his arms. She then takes one of his large hands in her's, intertwining their fingers and squeezing lightly. They stand there for a few moments, just staring out into space.

"Don't think I'll ever get used to this view," she finally says, awe lacing her voice. "It's so beautiful."

The Doctor looks down at their entwined fingers, still not meeting her gaze, but it's a vast improvement nonetheless. "Yes, it is," he replies, rubbing his thumb along the surface of her short fingernails.

"Can you name them all?"

"Hardly," he says, gently squeezing her hand, "that would make me a god, and I'd never want that job; too much responsibility."

Rose thinks the weight on her friend's shoulders could rival anyone's, deity or not, but decides to leave it unsaid. Taking a deep breath Rose bolsters her courage, finally getting to the point. "What was that all about this morning? Tell me what's wrong."

"I was angry, and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have done that."

After the violent display he'd subjected her to earlier he owes her a better explanation. "That much I got, Doctor. What I don't know is why."

Air puffs out of the Doctor's nose, more of a snort than a bitter laugh really, but Rose decides there isn't much of a difference. "I must have nodded off last night," he says, once more staring out into the black. "Never was much for sleep, should have known better."

"So you had a bad dream then?" Rose rubs her free palm down one of his arms, smoothing down the leather. She can't even begin to imagine the nightmares of a man forced to watch his whole civilization burn to ashes.

"No, Rose," he says, his smile tight and far from reaching his eyes. "Not a bad dream. I'm used to those. Take a nightmare any day me, and show it where to go while I'm at it."

Rose purses her lips, determined to hear this out. "Tell me."

"For a little while, Rose," he says, his Northern accent almost inaudible, "they were alive."

"Your people?"

He nods, squeezing both eyes shut and breathing deeply, as if trying to gain back some composure. The Doctor's voice nearly breaks as he continues. "They were calling me home."

Rose has to bite the inside of her cheek, keeping back a broken sob, as his words pierce right through her heart. This she understands. How many times as a child had she dreamed that her father was still alive, that her family was whole, only to awaken and find her mother in bed with some bloke who'd only be her boyfriend for about a minute? How much more painful would it be for the Doctor, whose whole world was gone? He's right, she decides, feeling her eyes burn insistently as she determinedly holds back the tears. Rose would take the nightmares any day; at least that way when you wake up, the reality is better.

"So I dream," he continues, voice growing bitter once more, "and then I wake up, and stupid git that I am, think that maybe there's some truth to it."

"That's what you were doing in the kitchen," Rose realizes, "you were searching for them, in your mind?"

"But I was wrong," he says, once again staring out into the stars, his emotions pushed low. "There's no one else left. I'm alone."

The Doctor's pain is too raw for Rose to handle anymore, so she moves around to face him and reaching up to gently grasp his chin, forces him to meet her gaze. "You've got me."

He smiles, and this time it does reach his eyes, and the pain in them seems to recede just a bit. "Yeah, I do," he says, drawing her to him, wrapping himself around her.

Rose slides her arms under the Doctor's jacket and around his waist, feeling the soft wool against her palms as she clings to him, desperate to banish his demons. She breathes deeply, pressing her face into his shoulder as he rubs one smooth cheek against her yellow hair. And if Rose wishes she could reach under his jumper and feel the cool skin underneath, or that he'd lean down just far enough for her to kiss him in that tempting place where his shoulder meets his neck, then she ignores it. Rose is here to give comfort, and he's taking it, and if that's all he'll ever want from her it'll be enough. It has to be enough, because this is home and she's not leaving.

Desperate to change the subject lest she fall ever more maudlin, Rose pulls back gently, resting her hands just below the Doctor's shoulders. She grips his biceps lightly and flashes a cheeky grin, her pink little tongue peeking out of the side of her mouth for a second. "Tell you what?"

"What?" he plays along, chuckling softly.

"I say we stop moping about and you take me someplace beautiful. What do you say?"

This time his smile could stop traffic. "Fantastic."


	3. Part 2, Chapter 1

**Title:** Of Dreams and Waking (Part 1)  
**Beta:** The amazing and talented **ganeris  
Character/Pairing:** Nine/Rose  
**Rating:** R (for some adult content)  
**Summary:** Which is better, the dream or the nightmare?  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters and I make no money off of their obvious love and desire for each other.  
**Author's Notes:** Written for the **timeandchips** ficathon, anywhere but Cardiff.  
**Prompt:** Deva Loka (paradise planet of the Kinda), August 3, 2266

_a/n: this story has now been upgraded to a M rating for some adult content. If that offends you, or if you are under the age of majority for your country, please don't read it._

**

* * *

**

**Of Dreams and Waking**

**Part 2, ****Chapter 1**

_To get the full value of joy you must have someone to divide it with. Mark Twain_

The Doctor should be in a state of total relaxation. He's on one of the most breathtaking beaches in the known universe; the sun high in the sky, the breeze soft and warm, and the sound of the waves gentle and rhythmic. He's got a fallen log to support his back, a towel to cushion his head, and one of his favorite books in hand. It's a shame really, since everything is beyond perfect, that he's nearly desperate to leave.

Rose asked for someplace beautiful, and so he brought her here, unwilling to risk ruining her request on something new and unknown. But Deva Loka reminds him too much of a different life; a time when he'd had a younger body and a lighter soul; a time when he'd been accompanied by three old friends, now long lost to him. He smiles in bittersweet reminiscence as their images dance though his mind: Nyssa, as brilliant as she was beautiful; Tegan, full of loyalty and stubborn pride; and Adric… _Oh God don't think of Adric_. The Doctor runs a palm over his face as a painful wave of remorse rolls through his abdomen. There are too many ghosts on this planet.

He lays the lovingly worn pages of Don Quixote against his chest, finally admitting to himself that he's not going to read any of it, and focuses all attention on his redemptive angel. Rose is frolicking among the gentle waves with a family of lombins, the furry creatures, sprinting and bobbing around her in the foamy sea. Every so often one of them pokes her playfully with an oversized duckbill, saying "hello." She laughs, throwing her head back in abject joy, as a brave baby lombin does just that, brushing its nose playfully against the bare skin of her stomach. The Doctor's breath catches in his throat as he is suddenly unaware of anything other than this woman: the music of her laugh; the way the sunlight reflects off her wet hair; the curve of her breasts against the powder-blue bikini top.

It would be so easy to go and join her; to strip down to his skin, wade out into the warm waves, and assuage the all consuming need he's felt since shortly after her first trip in the TARDIS. She'd welcome him, he knows this. He could have had her hours ago, propped up against the kitchen sink, legs spread wide, moaning his name. He'd been so very angry: angry at believing the impossibility of a dream, angry that she wouldn't let it go, and angry that there was a part of him who'd not really wanted her to. The Doctor had been a hair's breadth away from ravaging her lips with his, taking everything she was offering, but it was so much more than he deserved. In the end he'd thrown his rage into a childish tantrum rather than burying it between her thighs, but it had been a close call. Too close.

There are some things in this universe that are just not meant to be, and a broken Time Lord with more than nine centuries behind him has no business being in a sexual relationship with a nineteen-year-old human girl who's just begun to live. If he crosses that line, Rose will be too loyal to ever leave and someday she's going to want so many things he can't give her: a stable home, a family. The Doctor brushes his fingers down the spine of the book, the corner of his mouth curving into a bitter smile; when it comes to loving Rose Tyler, he might as well be tilting at windmills.

He's saved from falling further into maudlin introspection when Rose, glowing with youthful health and enthusiasm sprints the short distance separating him from the water's edge.

"What," he asks, closing the book and placing it on the sand besides him, "you get bored with your new friends already?"

"Nope, they all just up and swam away." she says, twisting the long length of her hair over one shoulder and wringing out the excess water. "Guess I wasn't very interesting company after all."

The Doctor swallows a comment about just how _interesting_ she actually is and glances down at his wristwatch, grateful for an excuse to divert his gaze from her gloriously wet skin. "Nah," he says, tapping the watch face, "they're just hungry is all; tide's about to come in, and with it all whole mess of different kinds of fish and plant life. They've just left you to go catch some grub."

Rose rubs a hand over the flat expanse of her stomach, fingertips just skimming the top edge of her bikini bottoms. "Speaking of which," she says casually, snapping the Doctor's attention back up to her face, "is there anything here we can eat, or am I going to have to go wade around in high tide myself?" She flashes him a cheeky grin, warming his whole body more effectively than an hour lying on the hot sand.

"All the fruit on this planet is edible," he tells her, his voice deceptively even.

"Seriously?" she asks him, her pretty face all scrunched up in disbelief, "all of it?"

"All of it," he confirms, getting to his feet and brushing considerable amounts of sand off his black jeans. "You asked for someplace beautiful, and I've brought you to paradise." The Doctor reaches over to the fallen log that's been acting as his back rest for the past hour and retrieves his leather jacket. The movement reveals the stash of brightly colored fruit he picked earlier. "You see," he says smugly, tossing her a perfectly ripened specimen from the pile, "no worries."

Rose catches it effortlessly in both hands. "Is this an apple?" she asks, examining the bright red skin.

The Doctor chooses his own snack from the pile before looking up to answer her. "Near enough," he shrugs. The fruit makes a distinctive popping sound as his teeth break the skin. "Tastes like one too."

Rose's expression turns decisively smug as she tosses her snack in the air a couple of times, "You sure I should be eating this with you?" she asks playfully, her lips spread wide in a playful smile. "One of these a day and I might just be left on an asteroid somewhere, no way to get home."

"Cheeky git," he replies, gesturing towards the fruit, "it'll take a lot more than a pile of these to keep _this_ Doctor away." He laughs in spite of himself, "That's a terrible pun, by the way; I must be rubbing off on you."

Rose sends him her most flirtatious look. "Oh, don't you just wish?"

He sees her smirk, and wolfishly raises an eyebrow, calling Rose's bluff. This game is safe, because he's holding all the cards.

Backing down just as he knew she would, Rose takes a huge bite of the red fruit, only to burst into hysterical giggles a second later as a cascade of excess juice dribbles down her chin and in between her breasts. "Okay," she manages between guffaws, "not exactly like an apple."

_Near enough_, the Doctor repeats in his mind, because this Eden, and she is the ultimate temptation. Heat pools in his groin as she takes another messy bite.

"Doctor," she mumbles, managing to swallow.

He snaps his thoughts away from where they most certainly shouldn't be and tosses her a towel. "Um, hmm?" _That's right_, he thinks, _sound disinterested_.

Rose wipes the juice from her face and neck before wrapping herself in the fluffy terrycloth, effectively concealing her lush curves. "You said that there were people here, highly developed people, but I haven't seen anything bigger than those giant platypuses I was just swimming with."

"They're called lombins, Rose," he corrects her, rolling his eyes in feigned exasperation, "and the people I told you about prefer to live in the deep jungle."

Rose makes a face, her disbelief evident as she searches the nearby sand for her discarded clothing. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Paradise, Rose, remember?" He grabs her denim shorts from next to the fruit pile and tosses them to her. "The Kinda have no natural predators and no enemies; they're completely peaceful. And since the temperature here never varies more than five degrees in either direction, they have no need for any shelter other than the trees."

"So they've got no buildings? How advanced could they be then?"

"Not everything has to come packaged with a human bow, Rose," he tells her, throwing her pink t-shirt at her lap as she sits down to tie her trainers. "This is Deva Loka in 2266, not London in 2005. Civilization means something entirely different than from what you're used to."

"All right," she says, straightening up and attempting to wipe sand off of her damp clothing, "then tell me what it does mean. What are the Kinda like?"

"Well, they're silent for one thing, Rose," he tells her. "Don't have to worry about them making snap judgments."

"Oi!" she exclaims indignantly, throwing her damp towel at the Doctor's chest.

He catches it effortlessly and continues without missing a beat. "They have the most developed sense of hearing in the universe, and as a result have developed chimes that when struck, use frequencies that are so precise they can manipulate different aspects of their biology. They heal using _sound,_ Rose, which is brilliant, absolutely fantastic, and you know why?" Rose just shakes her head, caught up in his enthusiasm. "Life has a tendency to overcompensate for any flaws, lose one sense and the others get stronger; the Kinda communicate almost exclusively with telepathy."

Rose's eyes grow to twice their size with that statement, "So when you say they're silent, you seriously mean they don't talk? At all?"

"For the most part," he tells her, making to move back towards the edge of the jungle where he'd parked the TARDIS, "each tribe is ruled by a priestess or wise woman. She and her protégé are the only members of the Kinda who can speak at any given time. Think of it as quality control."

Rose blows a puff of air inelegantly out of her nose, "quality control?"

"Yep," he says, grinning widely and leading her back towards the TARDIS through the thick expanse of trees. "No one speaks except the one in charge."

Rose seems to consider this for a moment. "But you said they have tepathy."

The Doctor rolls his eyes at her mispronunciation, "_Telepathy,_ Rose."

"Right," she agrees, quickly recovering, "_telepathy_. Doesn't that mean they talk all the time, only it's all in their minds, and not out loud?"

"Sort of," he agrees, "but it's not talking as such, more like a sharing of the minds. They have a constant sense of each other, but no real dialogue."

Rose's expression grows contemplative, "I'd miss it," she tells him sadly, "no more music, no more laughing, never hearing someone you care about say your name. How can they bear it?"

How does anyone bear it, he wonders, how did he survive before she came along to bring those things back to him? "You don't miss what you never had, Rose," he tells her, laying a firm, but gentle hand on her shoulder.

She nods, but doesn't look convinced, "I think I'd miss it anyway."

The Doctor thinks she might be right, but decides it's better left unsaid. "Would you like to see for yourself?"

Rose brightens instantly, once again animatedly enthused, "you mean go meet some of the Kinda?" He nods. "Absolutely! But how are we going to communicate with them?"

Rose lets the Doctor take her hand as he begins to lead them in a different direction. "I'll be able to sense a bit of their telepathic field," he tells her, guiding her deeper into the sub-tropical jungle, "and like I said, the wise woman can speak. Although I've got to warn you, the last time I was here I'd have preferred her not to have."

Rose giggles at his playfulness, "how do you mean?"

"Oh she was scary, Rose," he tells her, in all honesty. "All old and wizened, spouting prophesies that made no sense, and insults with no basis in reality." He lays a palm in the center of his chest and affects his most pained expression. "She called me an idiot, Rose," he says incredulously. "Can you imagine, _me_?" His expression grows more horrified as Rose's giggles get louder. "A batty old crone she was, I'm telling you."

Rose's laughter stops short as they're suddenly not the only people walking through the trees. Rose clasps the Doctor's hand a bit more tightly as a group of young men, all wearing simple linen skirts and guarded expressions, line up shoulder to shoulder to block their path. He senses a ripple of unease wash through them, and immediately sends out a psychic message of reassurance, hoping he's not too out of practice to send a clear signal. "Hello," he says calmly, more for Rose's benefit than theirs, "Just came here to see the sights, got any recommendations?"

Rose moves a bit closer to him when there's no change in the Kinda's unfriendly body language." I thought you said they were peaceful?"

Before the Doctor can reply the group suddenly splits in the middle, the twelve men lining up side by side in two parallel lines, allowing him to get a glimpse of what they've obviously been protecting.

The breathtaking woman glides gracefully towards them, her bare feet hardly making a sound on the lush grass. The simple linen shift she wears somehow manages to accentuate every elegant curve of her body, while perfectly complimenting the auburn highlights in the cascading waves of her ebony hair.

Rose moves in close to the Doctor, leaning her whole length into his side, her body heat suddenly startling him away from the wise woman's thrall. He looks down at her familiar face, at once startled by the hostility he finds there. "Batty old crone, yeah?" she says flippantly, "Well that's certainly a new definition_."_

Too stunned to comment, the Doctor looks back up towards the enticing creature now standing directly before him; her dark, heavy lidded eyes seeming to take in his whole self. She lays a palm flat on his chest for a moment, smiling knowingly before reaching up to touch his face.

"Welcome, Doctor," the wise woman's voice echoes in his mind, a caress much more intimate than the fingers on his cheek. "We're so glad you've come."


End file.
